


Guilty

by Actually_Felicity_Smoak



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5x03, Depression, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Felicity_Smoak/pseuds/Actually_Felicity_Smoak
Summary: Spoilers for Arrow 5x03Instead of breaking John out of jail like a lunatic, Oliver goes and talks to him.  Like a sensible person.  I know the writers aren't going to play it this way, so I figured I would have to write it up myself.





	1. Chapter 1

A lot of people came and went through the hallways of a military prison. John Diggle still hadn't quite learned how to ignore them. 

Situational awareness had been too important, for too long. He was aware of every time the bolt slid back at the end of the hall; he could tell you how many times a shadow had walked by his cell door. He could tell you the names of the guards by the sound of their gait. 

He couldn't stop it. Paying attention was too much a part of who he was. And there was nothing else to pay attention to. 

_It was a part of who you WERE, Diggle. You're not that person any more. Forget it. Forget everything._

He had to remind himself of it constantly. _You're not a soldier._ He held the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the sights and sounds of the cell block. _You're a criminal. And a murderer._

He didn't yell. He didn't pound the walls, or the bed. He didn't rattle the cell door. John Diggle held himself under control. It was all he had left. 

_Except that one time,_ his inner voice taunted. _Just one time you lost control. And then you killed your baby brother._

He didn't moan. He didn't move. It wouldn't help. All it would do is make him feel better. And he didn't deserve to feel better. 

It was the temper. Always his damned temper. And worst with the ones he loved. He'd driven Andy away. He'd driven Oliver away. He'd driven Lyla away. 

He'd worked so hard to recover, after his third tour. He'd fought so hard to keep himself under control. And he thought he'd done it. Sure, he'd lost it a couple of times, said things he didn't mean. But he'd thought he was getting better. And then a few words, a few taunts, and he shot his own brother. 

But he had it solved now. Anger was for fighting. It gave you the strength, and the fearlessness, to stand up and struggle on. John Diggle was done fighting. And so there was no use for anger. No point to yelling, no point to moving, no point to talking. No point to any of it. 

If he didn't do anything, he couldn't do anything wrong.

 _Don't react. Whatever happens. Just. Don't. React._


	2. Chapter 2

The footsteps stopped outside his cell door. _Don't react._ In a second they'd give him orders, and he would do as he was told, and that would be his life, for however long he might live. _Hopefully not long._

Nothing came. The cell block was silent. John tried to stop himself from speculating. _Don't react._ Whatever happened would happen. He had no part in it now. 

_It's not lunch time. Not exercise. They don't allow visitors here. Must be a guard coming to harass me. But then why aren't they speaking? No. Don't react._

It was no good. His brain kept right on analyzing. _Who is it? Doesn't sound like any of the guards. New guy? Sounds familiar, though. Sounds like..._ He couldn't quite place it. He knew he'd heard that sound before. The footsteps spoke of balanced, measured paces, the gait of someone who's comfortable in their body. Didn't have the sharp ring of boots on concrete. Sounded like expensive shoes, actually. Like following one of his clients. 

It was the word 'clients' that clicked, somehow. He knew where he'd heard that gait. He'd heard it every night, for nearly four years. And now that he had the connection, the rest of the subliminal clues clicked in. He knew the scent of the aftershave, the sound of the breathing. _But it can't be. They don't allow visitors down here._

_But this is Oliver fucking Queen. Who the hell's going to stop him?_

He tried to ignore it. If he didn't move, maybe it would go away. 

_It's Oliver fucking Queen, though. You'll never out-wait him. You can't out-stubborn him. It'll never work._ John rolled over. 

Oliver was in his dedicated-mayor costume: business suit, conservative tie, relaxed posture. If John studied his clothing, he wouldn't have to look up and meet Oliver's eyes. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Oliver give a small nod. "Hey." 


	3. Chapter 3

Not only had Oliver talked his way down into the cell block, for a conversation of indeterminate length, he'd gotten a copy of the key. He let himself in, pocketed the keyring, and sat down on the bed across from John. 

John sat up, and faced Oliver's direction. But still he said nothing. 

Oliver clasped his hands loosely between his knees. "Lyla said you might need someone to talk to." 

"No, I don't." John suddenly realized what he could do to make Oliver go away, what would guarantee he'd never have to see Oliver again. "There's nothing to talk about. I did it." 

"Bullshit." Oliver's tone wasn't angry, and he didn't raise his voice. But he didn't hesitate for a millisecond, either, and his tone held no uncertainty. John was finally startled into looking at Oliver directly. 

Oliver's expression was amused, and compassionate, but completely devoid of scorn or doubt. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, John. No one's going to believe for a second that you're guilty." 

"Then why am I here, Oliver?" John suddenly realized he was shouting. _No, dammit. I'm done fighting. Even with Oliver. I'm done._

"We're working on it." It wasn't Oliver's persuasive voice, or his soothing voice. It was his mission-leader voice. He had selected a problem, and expected his team to work together to solve it. "Felicity's tracing the financial irregularities. We don't have the full case yet, but she has some promising leads. If we can get solid evidence, Barry will run the forensics on it. We think we can get you out of here in probably two or three weeks."

 _Whatever. I don't care any more._ John flopped back and put his arm over his eyes. _You do what you want._

There was silence in the cell for a few minutes. Then Oliver spoke softly. "We've got your back, John. We'll get through this." 

_Don't react._ He'd had a lot of practice. He'd gotten good at not moving. _Just. Don't. React._

"I'd give anything to have Laurel back, but her friend Johanna has agreed to help us out. She and Felicity are coordinating to determine how much evidence we'll need, and how to package it. When we add that to your testimony.."

"I'm not testifying." John didn't move. His voice was quiet. But Oliver stopped talking immediately. He had to have been listening for John's voice. 

"Why not?" 

It was too big a question. There was no way to answer. How could he explain to Oliver what it was like? How it burned inside? How much he needed it to end? It was impossible. John didn't have it in him to try. 

Silence stretched. Oliver waited. John ignored him. He'd gotten good at ignoring, too. 

Oliver finally spoke. "I can do this all night, Diggle." 

"The guards will kick you out at some point." John's voice was muffled under his arm. 

"Try me." Oliver's voice was amused, and confident. 

_Spoiled onepercenter privileged douchebag._ Despite all his best efforts, Digg could feel his anger rising. "That's what this is? A chance to demonstrate -- once again -- how the entire world is your own personal playground? Good job, Queen. Congratulations. You can in fact use your money and your power to override all rules and do whatever the hell you want. Your father would be proud." John was on his feet and didn't know how it had happened. 

Oliver had gone very still. It was a stillness John recognized. That John had taught him. It was the stillness that you forced on yourself because if you moved, you would cause lethal damage to someone nearby. 

Oliver spoke very carefully. "That won't work either, John. I'm still on your side." 

"Stop, Queen." John fought to keep his voice steady. "Just stop." 

"Stop what, Diggle?" Oliver was still struggling to control his anger. "Stop helping? Stop trying to clear your name? Stop acting like a friend?" 

"Yes, dammit!" John exploded. "I don't want help. I don't want any of that!" 

"Maybe not," Oliver's voice was cold, "But you need it just the same. This isn't you, John. This isn't who you are."

"It is now." John turned away. 

"I don't accept that." 

"I really don't care." John was sick of it all. "What are you going to do about it?" 

Behind him, Oliver snorted. "The same thing I've always done. Be a stubborn son of a bitch and an enormous pain in the ass until you realize that I need a role model and step up to help me out." 

"I'm not a role model, Oliver. I'm not a hero." John braced his arm on the wall, placed his forehead against it. "You, more than anyone, can understand that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've always supported me before. Support me in this. Please." 

Oliver's tone held no judgement. "In what, John?" 

"In bringing my brother's killer to justice."


	4. Chapter 4

"Is that what you think you're doing?" 

"No, Oliver, it is what I'm doing." Oliver started to speak, but John overrode him. "You can say anything you want about Damien Darhk, and HIVE. It won't change my mind. I held the gun. I pulled the trigger." John stood to face him. "I'm guilty, Oliver. It doesn't matter that they got the charges wrong. It doesn't matter that this is a frame. The result is correct. Life in prison, for murder. This is justice."

"No, John. It's not." 

John stared. "Oliver, you don't understand...."

But now Oliver was on his feet, too. "Understand what, Diggle? Don't understand shame? Don't understand regret? My father shot himself in front of me and I failed to do the one thing he asked of me. I tortured a man for hours just because he pissed me off. I didn't trust Tommy and it got him killed. I didn't trust you," Oliver's voice broke, "and almost lost you, and Felicity, and everything that matters to me."

Oliver swallowed. "Never again, John. No one is ever convincing me to walk away from you ever again. Not even you." And for a moment, Oliver looked just like he had five years ago, when John signed on to his crazy crusade: stubborn, lonely, and frightened.

John closed his eyes. _I can't. I just can't._ "I don't know what to do, Oliver. I can't go back. I don't know how to go forward. I just..." John shook his head. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Let me help." John opened his eyes, met Oliver's gaze. "Please, John. You've helped me so many times, so much more than I deserved. Let me pay you back, in some small measure. Just once. Please." He held his arm out to John.

John looked down at Oliver's hand, then up to his face. _Are you sure, man?_ But Oliver showed no doubt. Just confidence, and compassion.

Finally, slowly, John clasped Oliver's forearm.


End file.
